


The Plan's Gone Up In Smoke

by FictionIsSocialInquiry



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Happy Ending, Katara is "Ming", LONELY TOGETHER, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Zuko is "Lee", bed sharing, how to move on when everything falls apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28954158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionIsSocialInquiry/pseuds/FictionIsSocialInquiry
Summary: "It was the next day they saw the posters... They hadn’t seen death announcements before; a new tradition for the Phoenix King to go with his new title."When their friends fail, and they are the only survivors, what kind of life is left to a traitor prince and a waterbending enemy? How do they pick up the pieces of this life when the plan goes up in smoke?
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 255





	The Plan's Gone Up In Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that sort of darkly appealed to me after I’d seen the show… If Aang hadn’t beaten Ozai, what would the fall out have looked like? Would anywhere have been safe? What happens to the good guys when the bad guys decimate everything their identities revolved around? Real light reading, this one…
> 
> 2021 Rewrites AN— Its been a whole arse long time since I published this and I winced my way through a re-read… If you’re reading after 24/01/2021, enjoy the rewrites that make this story a lil better! It will hurt at first but I promise a happy ending!

They fled the Fire Nation the instant word of Aang’s death reached the capital. In that moment, all the sweetness of their success, the giddiness of Azula’s defeat shattered like stone or, more truthfully, like glass; their victory had never been as solid as stone. On the floor laid the pieces. Their hopes for the future, a world of peace, their love for their friends.

For the lightning-struck prince and the waterbending master, victory became annihilation in a matter of moments.

\- o -

It was the Fire Sages that saved them.

‘You must go.’ The wizened man appeared like a wraith with no warmth or gesture of comfort to soften the blow. Behind him, several men in Sage’s robes loomed out of the gloom, a host of craggy, blood-stained ghouls. ‘They are coming for you, for Prince Zuko.’

The loyalists, the opportunists, the old guard— it didn’t matter who. The Avatar had fallen and anyone wanting to make a gift of them upon the return of the Phoenix King was enemy. Katara was heavy under too many nights of lost sleep. The cot by the Crown Prince’s bed was soft, made up of sheets so silken, she’d wriggle just to feel them slide against her skin, but they were little comfort when Zuko— seized with the lingering effects of Azula’s attack— convulsed under her hands. The prince himself was ashen on the sweat soaked bed, burned and scarred again for his nation. The boy shot through with lightning could hardly sip his own tea let alone bear the news and make the call.

No, it was Katara that Takino the Fire Sage, woke first.

‘Please.’ The old man’s eyes were wide; _fear_ , Katara realised, her stomach curdling. _He’s afraid_.

She left her exhaustion behind in the cot, immediately alert. ‘Who?’ she whispered, unease tightening her throat. She searched the room for that deranged laughter that had haunted her every step since ice and a long chain had ended the conflict in the courtyard. ‘Azula?’

‘There is no time!’ The old man knelt by the faintly stirring prince, two of his acolytes helping Zuko stumble to his feet. ‘We have clothes and supplies waiting for you. Please! _Please_ , be quick!’

She drew water to Zuko’s wound, iced the bandaging there to help lessen his pained protests as the acolytes bore him to the secret door in the room’s panelling. In the silence between panicked whispers, she heard armoured footsteps echo down distant corridors.

Katara was born to a world at war. Her body knew what to do before her uneasy mind. She drew water from the attached bathroom, sheathing her arms and shoulders even as the Sages ushered her through the door.

They would never take her alive. Not Zuko or Appa or…

She shook her head; there would be time to worry about the others later. There would be time.

The Fire Sages’ temple on Capital Island was connected to the palace, the docks, and the volcano by a series of ancient tunnels. Few could navigate their way through that labyrinth, for which there is no map. Only those dedicates, the sages chosen by the Order of the White Lotus, were taught the way through the veins of the volcano.

Zuko and Katara would remember few details of that desperate flight. She’d remember the moon peach scented water on her skin, the way the scent seemed to cling to the dryness in her throat. Years later, the scent of moon peaches would bring a dark cloud to her joy, a black dog to her side. As the journey stretched into minutes then hours, the unease in her belly drew her foggy mind to difficult questions.

_What did the Fire Sages’ mean Aang had fallen?_ Her brain struggled to process the thought, as though it were some vaguely interesting, distant fact; a storm lingering on the far horizon. Not a threat. Nothing to worry about. _Aang… Aang couldn’t lose._

Zuko’s thoughts weren’t anywhere near coherent enough to linger on the glacial news; he was barely conscious. Only the acute pain in his chest and the struggle for each breath marked time for him, though something like desolation burned like tears behind his eyes.

The caves opened onto a rocky inlet. Nothing grew. There was only stone and ocean, cold despite the comet and summer. The sages bundled Zuko and Katara into grey clothes, thick cloaks for travelling, so plain that even the prince’s scar wouldn’t stand out. Into her arms they thrust two packs; into his, a walking stick for all the good it would do him.

‘Appa,’ Katara choked, clutching the wizened Sage’s arm as he guided her towards a small and battered boat. ‘We need Appa.’

The old man shook his head mutely. ‘I’m sorry, child.’

The sages had tried to spirit the flying bison away first, but the creature’s throat had been cut clear through; a macabre smile against his creamy fur.

A whimper— small and hopeless— escaped her at the bleakness in the Sage’s eyes. ‘No…’ Her grip on the man tightened; she would _make_ him understand; they needed Appa…

‘You must go! They’ll tear this island apart to find him, please!’

Katara glanced over at her friend, slumped against the ship’s cabin like a broken doll cast aside by a cruel child. She’d seen such broken dolls die before, a young boy, back in the South Pole. He hadn’t eaten for weeks and by the time he came to Gran Gran, there was no food that would revive him. The grey pallor she’d worked so hard to heal her friend of over the last few days of had returned; glassy eyed, he struggled to catch his breath.

This boy she’d save.

She gripped the Fire Sage’s hand tightly and pulled a fragile strength from somewhere below her terror. ‘Thank you,’ she said thickly. ‘For our lives. Thank you.’

‘Go,’ he begged, pushing her away and the last Southern waterbender raised her arms up high. The sea around the little boat surged, thrusting them away from the secret shoreline. Away from the Firelord’s palace.

\- o -

Zuko slept the rest of the night and all of the following day while Katara let her exhaustion cloud her mind in a foggy numbness that knew little more than the bending forms that sped them faster than any navy vessel out into the ocean. She only halted her propulsion to stagger under Zuko’s weight when she moved him onto the bed in the little cabin, she let the swell rock them so she could press her glowing hands over his wound until the inside of the cabin spun with more than the ocean’s sway.

With her return to her post at the back of the ship came the thundering slap of reality. She leant against the nicked and scarred mast and wept. Bitterly. Not that she needed more water to bend; on every side, cold sea stretched uninterrupted.

She was alone.

No.

Not quite.

If not for Zuko, Katara feared where the despair of her thoughts might have taken her. Without the newly re-exiled prince to care for… He’d given her some small purpose, one thing she could fix in a world burning all around her.

By nightfall, he was recovered enough to eat the simple fare that the noble sages had prepared for them. It was little more than dried meat and rice, but it was food and the drafty cabin was protection from driving rain. The inside of the cabin had room only for the little bed and, opposite it, a cramped table and two stools, all bolted to the floor.

And their looming despair. There was barely space enough for it.

They sat, side by side, on the wafer-thin mattress, their elbows sticking to one another with the salt on their skin. The contact, though irksome, was something. They were here. They were alive.

‘You should sleep.’ Katara barely recognised his voice. He’d barely spoken since Azula’s strike and now, after the desperate flight through the labyrinth under the palace, his voice was the only comfort she had.

And it was as filled with quiet horror as she.

‘I’m not tired,’ she lied, picking at the cold rice. ‘Besides, we’re still too close to the capital.’

Someone had melted a candle into the centre of the table; it flickered as a cool breeze invaded through the cabin’s slats. Zuko didn’t call her on her lie, didn’t mention his gnawing shame at the uselessness of his bending in the middle of the ocean for anything other than lighting the candle. He didn’t offer her empty words of comfort he wouldn’t mean. Aang was dead. Appa was dead. Their friends were who knows where.

He knew she was crying; her shoulders shook against his. What could he possibly say to her? What was left to say?

Mutely he covered her hand with his and let her pretend the whimpers were just the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls that separated them and the world.

\- o -

A few hours from dawn, he felt the boat slow and Katara staggered through the cabin door, closing it quietly behind her. Her silhouette was shrunken in on itself, hollow somehow. The patchy moonlight through the cabin walls illuminated her grey pallor and the purple bruises under her eyes. Without a word, he pressed himself back against the wall and peeled open the empty sleeping bag beside him.

The moonlight caught her red-rimmed eyes as she sat heavily on the edge of the bed. ‘I can’t bend us any further tonight.’ The faintness of the waterbender’s voice frightened him more than the midnight stumbling through the Fire Sage’s tunnels had.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he told her as calmly as he could. ‘Get a few hours’ sleep, I’ll keep look out.’

She fell, heavily, into the pillow, her back towards him.

Just when he thought she’d finally fallen asleep, two cold, salty fingers curled around his.

\- o -

It was the next day they saw the posters.

The fugitives— for that’s what they were now— disembarked and hid their vessel in the forest fringing an outer island beach. _The advantages to travelling with a water bender_ , Zuko thought before he corrected himself: fleeing, not travelling.

They were on a small volcanic island, one of dozens to the south and the east of the capital. He wore his hood pulled down low, his arms held tightly stiffly against his sides; each step drained what little strength Katara had managed to return to him. But after each step he made another, left foot then right until they reached the fishing village they’d seen from the water.

She’d brushed her hair out and wore it half up in the Fire Nation style, all the better to fit in. Even her hair loopies had been unbound and swept up in her top knot. They both agreed that his hair should stay down, to better hide the all too recognisable scar beneath the hood. They wouldn’t have risked stopping at all had it not been for what Katara claimed were necessary clean bandages for his wound. Privately, he thought she wanted to search for news of her father, brother, and their friends. His uncle. He didn’t put up any resistance; privately, he was scarcely less desperate for some sign they were okay.

The few coins he’d taken from the Fire Sages’ purse he spent on a bottle of fire whisky. Something in him craved oblivion.

The posters were all over the market. It was impressive, really, after so short a time— less than four days. They were a mockery of the old wanted posters that used to follow them through the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation.

They hadn’t seen death announcements before; a new tradition for the Phoenix King to go with his new title.

The sketches of Suki and Toph were a blow to the gut. The girls weren’t smiling. Someone had drawn horns over the earth bender’s head. Each of them had been significant enough for a short paragraph, detailing their crimes in aiding an enemy of the Fire Nation, and a one word confirmation of their defeat: _executed_.

The images of Aang, Iroh, Sokka, and Hakoda were more like being buried by an avalanche.

Zuko tore the poster from the community notice board and snatched Katara’s frozen arm. He wasn’t gentle. He forced her back the way they’d come, breathing with difficulty against the pain in his chest— was it his wound still? Or his last hope for his friends and his uncle? He dragged and bullied and shoved the shaking Water Tribe girl back to where their boat listed among the trees.

‘Bato and the Warriors didn’t rate a picture,’ she said, dazed, as he checked over their shoulders for pursuit. She pulled the crumbled parchment from his grip and slowly unfolded it, her eyes wide and turbulent. ‘Here… _“Rebels from the Southern Water Tribe…”_ ’ She turned it towards Zuko and her tribesmen’s names gleamed black against the yellowing paper. ‘Aang,’ her voice shook, like a flightless bird teetering on some high ledge. ‘Your uncle. Toph. Suki. Dad… Sokka.’

A lump, thick and hot, was wedged in Zuko’s throat, no matter how he tried to clear it. ‘The boat,’ he rasped, tugging at the wooden railing uselessly. ‘Katara, bend the boat back into the water.’

‘ _“Rebels and traitors,”_ ’ she whispered, her eyes scanning down the page; it shook as though in a high wind. ‘ _“Misguided… divided…”_ ’

‘Katara!’

She looked up at him hollowly, a tear plummeting from her right eye. ‘They’re all gone.’

The page slipped from her grip.

Zuko never told her, but the emptiness in her gaze frightened him more than his father. ‘We’ll be okay,’ he said shakily, coming forward and resting his hands on her shoulder. ‘I know you’re hurting right now, I know you are, but I need you to keep it together for five more minutes and help me get this boat back in the water. Please.’

The awful, lost look in those wide eyes pierced him. ‘The boat?’

He squeezed her shoulder, his hood falling back. ‘Please,’ his voice broke. ‘Please, Katara.’

She blinked and turned to look at the ocean, the setting sun playing like fire across her face. Hands shaking, she jerked her wrists and the tide rushed up to lick at the bottom of their ship. Zuko dragged her onto the vessel, rescuing the crumpled death notice, and guided them back out to sea.

He set about knotting the rigging, letting loose the sail, and searching for the direction of the breeze. His water bending propulsion had sunk to the deck, her knees curled to her chest, while she sobbed to a chorus of uncaring winds and salty spray.

\- o -

Once he’d guided them east, away from the island, Zuko set about preparing two small meals; he’d no appetite for food, but the action gave him something to do. Even Sokka would be turned off dinner were he here; Zuko’s stomach clenched painfully at the thought.

Katara hadn’t moved from her place at the prow of the ship. The moon was a sliver, high up above their heads. The little light it cast was just enough to see the grey-black shape of the water bender against the blue-black of the boat.

Zuko sat heavily beside her, a bowl in each hand, and the bottle of fire whiskey under his arm. Wordlessly, he pushed one bowl of rice towards her; he wasn’t surprised by her lack of response. Hands shaking, he loosened the cap on the bottle and drunk deeply before nudging her, alcohol outstretched.

She raised her head, blinking at the amber liquid. ‘What…?’

He pressed it into her hands then leaned back until his head bumped against the railing with a _thunk_. ‘Drink.’

She sniffed the whisky, wrinkling her nose, but tipped it back and swallowed two huge mouthfuls.

The burn in her throat made her think of Azula.

Zuko rescued the bottle before she could drop it, helping himself to another swig; to him the burn meant the promise of forgetting, if just for a time.

‘We need to decide what to do,’ he began, clearing his throat when his voice threatened to crack. ‘Where to go.’

She took the fire whisky from him and drank deeply, wincing. ‘No where’s safe anymore,’ she said at last, wiping her hand across her mouth.

‘Even so,’ he plucked a cold dumpling from his bowl and bit into it for something to do.

Katara turned her face up to the moon, tear tracks gleaming in the cold light. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know how I can do anything anymore. Not now.’

Zuko grit his teeth and tipped the bottle back; he needed the strength. ‘South,’ he said suddenly, his voice loud enough to compensate for the quiet of hers. ‘We could go to the South Pole. Don’t you want to go home?’

She closed her eyes, fresh tears trickling out from under her eyelids. ‘Won’t they come looking for us there? I can’t bring that on my people.’

He nodded slowly, forcing his brain to consider the situation. ‘Initially, yes. When my father discovers we got away, he’ll send soldiers there.’

‘Don’t call him that,’ she choked, opening her eyes to glare at him. His heart lurched at the sudden ferocity in her; that more than anything the whisky was doing, warmed him. ‘He’s _not_ your father! You’re nothing like him! He’s… he’s…’ Her face crumpled again.

He bumped the bottle against her arm until she took it. ‘We could go to the Earth Kingdom,’ he continued calmly, as though she’d not spoken. ‘Find somewhere to lie low for a while, until they give up the search…’

Years. That could be _years_. ‘Two kids settling down in an Earth Kingdom town? We’d stand out a mile off.’

Zuko shrugged. ‘There are plenty of displaced people from the war,’ he said slowly, scrutinising her bowl. Silently he plucked the bottle from her and pushed the food into her hands, eyeing her sternly until she half-heartedly chewed on a dumpling. ‘Who’s going to notice two more? Besides, I don’t think either of us have been kids for a long time.’

‘Fine,’ she muttered, staring blankly out at the rolling ocean.

He sipped again at the fire whisky, more slowly now. The warm feeling in his stomach had spread to his hands and feet; that pleasant tingle that numbed the memory of his uncle’s sketch. ‘We’ll need new names. Katara is too obviously Water Tribe, and Zuko…’

She found her father’s face in the shadows on the waves. Sokka’s too. ‘Zuko is the name of the traitor prince.’

He swallowed thickly. ‘I went by Lee when Uncle and I… when we…’

She touched his knee gently, her eyes creased in understanding. ‘Lee,’ she agreed, starting on the second dumpling. ‘I’ll be Ming.’

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, closing his eyes against the burn of the tears. ‘Uncle went by Mushi,’ he rasped as tears leaked out from behind his eyes.

She gave a watery smile. ‘Sokka once wore a fake beard and called himself Wang Fire.’

Zuko’s bark of laughter was anything but happy. He held up the emptying bottle. ‘To Mushi and Wang.’

She watched him drink deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. ‘To Iroh and Sokka,’ she echoed quietly, hot tears dripping from her chin. She took the bottle when he was done and drank to her brother.

Zuko nodded, his throat stinging and shoulders shaking as his grief spilled down his cheeks.

\- o -

Katara was so sick the following day, they had to again rely on the mild breeze in their sail to push them towards the Earth Kingdom. She spent much of the morning hunched over the side of the boat, her clothes crumbled and hair askew from spending the night slumped against him on deck. They’d never made it back to the tiny cabin and ever tinier bed; their sorrow was too large for such a small space.

Zuko, too, felt worse for wear, but he kept his stomach. Though between the rolling of the ship and the scent of the water bender’s misery it was a close call.

After a time, she fell silent and he stood to bring her fresh water and plain rice. She knelt beside the wooden railing, one hand loosely clasping the edge of it, her eyes tightly closed. The sight made him pause. Katara was not one to give into despair. He’d seen her backed into a corner, outmatched as the moon set and the sun rose, outnumbered under the green glow of crystal catacombs… never had the tenacious waterbender looked so defeated. Something more than bone and muscle had held her shoulders back and her chin high.

That something was gone; it’s absence was as clear as the scar across his face.

He pushed the cup into her hand. ‘Drink,’ he told her, clearing his throat of the husky tone that comes from a night of tears and drinking.

She blinked and turned her gaze up to him. ‘Your chest,’ she croaked, taking the water, and sipping cautiously. ‘I didn’t work on it yesterday…’

He shook his head and handed her the rice. ‘It’s fine.’

The rope back by the captain’s seat near the rudder— the one binding the sail in place— was fraying, and the sail was patchy at best. The boat would hold them over till they reached the Earth Kingdom, but they’d need to do some repairs once they found a place to hide.

Zuko stared out at the risen sun to the east, the curved prow of the little boat pointing straight at it. He shed the cloak— there was no one in sight to hide from— and took some small comfort in the warmth of the sun’s rays against his skin. He took a deep breath, holding it for a beat the way he’d been taught, and slowly released it. Some of the turmoil swirling inside of him eased at the familiar practice.

He drew in another before remembering who it was who’d taught him the breathing technique. His uncle’s face swam in his mind’s eye and his breath caught.

He opened his eyes, not caring that she’d see the fresh tears on his cheeks and watched her approach. Katara clutched the bowl in both her hands, a grain of rice clinging to the corner of her mouth. She brushed it away and traced the tear tracks on her friend’s pale face with her gaze. Her heart stuttered at the sight and she remembered that she was not the only one to have lost family.

She sat beside him, and leaned her head against his shoulder, twining her arms around his waist. ‘I’m glad, at least,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘To have you here with me.’

Some small comfort eased the tightness in her chest when his head butted against hers. ‘Me too.’

They, both of them, felt the gift of not being alone with their loss.

\- o -

It took them a further week to reach the western coastline of the Earth Kingdom.

Katara sensed Zuko’s helplessness, the powerlessness that weighed against him almost as heavily as his grief. The fire bender needed a purpose, something to distract him. She caught fish for him with her water bending, had him sear them for more diversity in their meals. But after six days straight of seared bluefin, Katara was eager for anything other than seafood.

She stood with him, at the stern shielding her eyes with a sun-kissed hand. She’d darkened considerably during the days on deck under the beating Fire Nation sun. Though Sozin’s comet had passed on the day Aang fell, the sun was still baking hot. Zuko had fared worse with his pale complexion. The day after they’d discovered the deaths of their friends, she’d found an old shirt in one of the dusty cupboards in their cabin and fashioned him a headscarf to protect his face and neck from the mercilessness of the sun.

He pulled down the rag she’d strung across the centre of his wrap that protected his nose and chapped lips. The approaching coastline stirred the same paralysing mix of trepidation and relief in both of them.

‘Where do you think we are?’ she asked, squinting through the glare of the sun on the water.

Zuko tugged on the knot by the tiller, correcting their course. ‘We passed Roku’s Island four days ago, and have been sailing due east since then…’ He tried to visualise the maps he’d studied as a child. ‘I don’t think we’re far from the Western Fire Nation Colonies of the Earth Kingdom.’

She looked up at him in alarm, licking her cracked and salty lips. ‘The colonies?’ she repeated in disbelief. ‘We can’t go there!’

He pulled the rope in his hand until the sail swung around and they started veering south. ‘I’ll take us a few miles away from the trade port but we need supplies.’

She eyed the columns of smoke to the north, the distant statue of the Fire Lord. ‘There’ll be a village or a town further down the coast, we can make it till then.’

She was right, of course. By nightfall the cleared forest and warm lights announced the presence of a smaller port, the shipping town of Litao. They grounded the boat in a secluded cave a few miles out of town, shouldered their nearly-empty packs, and scouted for a piece of flat land to camp for the night. Katara thanked Tui and La that she’d had the forethought to unpack and store their few belongings in the cabin. She was so eager to feel solid earth under her feet, the time it would have taken to empty them for the market seemed intolerable.

The thought forced Toph’s face to the forefront of her mind.

Zuko called her over when he found the place, a clearing with brush thick enough to hide their position, but from which they could still spy the town below.

They were silent and still for a moment, the heart break of setting up camp without the others hovering cruelly before them.

He stirred first, dropping his pack. ‘I’ll collect the firewood if you get dinner,’ he offered, glancing up at the clear sky. ‘I don’t think we’ll need the tent tonight.’

Katara tried for a smile. ‘Sure.’

He hesitated. ‘Here.’ Zuko stooped and retrieved the small oil lantern from his bag, lighting the wick for her. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

She nodded and lifted the lantern to go in search of the lychee fruit she’d seen on their way here. The weight of her friends; absence made even standing a task worthy of note, but she felt like she’d cried all the tears she had. Besides, there was a certain grief in dry sorrow.

The lychee were sweet, sickeningly so, on a tongue so accustomed now to salt. The sting of the sugar made her jaw ache. On her way back to their camp site, she heard the familiar slosh of water and crouched low to follow the sound, heart racing. Could it be soldiers out looking for them? Surely Ozai would scour the coastline for them, it made sense they’d flee there first.

Peering around a bangalow palm, she spied the source of the noise.

Zuko was bathing in a freshwater pond.

The fire bender had stripped down to his pants and crouched in the water scrubbing over a week’s worth of salt from his scalp and neck. But just as she was attuned to her element, he sensed the presence of his in the lantern she carried. Stiffening, he turned towards her, face fierce as he raised his hands defensively.

‘It’s just me.’

He dropped his stance. ‘Agni, you scared me.’

She stepped towards him, setting the lantern and lychee down by the waterline. ‘About time you washed,’ she teased weakly, ‘you’ve been stinking up the boat.’

It didn’t sound right, a joke. But he appreciated the attempt at levity. ‘What about you?’ he demanded, the familiarity of the bickering like the warmth of fire whisky in his belly. ‘You’ve been drowning me in your hair every night.’

She frowned at him and raised a hand to her wild curls. ‘It’s all the salt,’ she replied indignantly. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t need to drown you in it if you stopped rolling on it and yanking it!’

Zuko grinned and lines she hadn’t even noticed gathered around his mouth eased. ‘The bed is too small.’

She felt her own lips turn up in response to his; it very nearly felt good. ‘The bed is way too small.’ She caught sight of his discarded clothes. ‘If you want to give those a scrub, I can dry them,’ she offered, shedding her own clothes beside his.

He turned away, towards his tunic and trousers, when she lifted her dress over her head. ‘Yeah, yeah, I stink, I get it.’

‘Not really,’ she amended, striding past him, into the cool freshwater. ‘You actually smell kind of nice.’

She didn’t see the surprised look he shot her, the hesitant smile. Soothed by the smoothness of freshwater, her shoulders lost their tension, rounding downwards rather than tight and square. He gathered her clothes along with his, squatting by the water’s edge. Honestly, he was just glad she could take this moment of peace hidden safely under the veil of night, surrounded by her element.

It didn’t take them long to bath or wash their clothes without soap. Katara showed him how he could use the lychee berries and pond reeds to get the salt-and-sweat stiffness out of his shirt so later when they laid on opposite sides of the fire, staring up at the clear night sky, he taught her Fire Nation constellations.

‘The Lonely Dragon,’ he pointed to the cluster as he recognised them. ‘Just there, above the banana tree.’

She braided a few strands of hair absentmindedly. ‘We’ve got a similar one in the South Pole.’

‘What’s it called?’

She made a face. ‘The Spinster.’

Zuko grunted. ‘The Crone, they call it in the Earth Kingdom…’

Katara pointed to a milky swirl directly above them. ‘Does that have a name?’

He followed the trajectory of her finger. ‘Blind Man’s Glass,’ he muttered, a low shiver tingling his spine. ‘The Fire Sage’s say all lost loved ones are reunited in the Blind Man’s Glass.’

Katara thought of Aang, Sokka, Toph, but swallowed thickly and pushed their smiling faces from her mind. ‘Better to focus on what we have now,’ she said after a moment, ‘than get lost up in the stars.’

The firebender glanced at her in time to see her wipe a tear from her cheek. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he mused, turning back to the sky nonetheless. He fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his ankles; it felt strange to have so much space again after those long cramped and salty nights. Disconcerting. Sighing quietly, he kicked off his boots and tried to get comfortable.

‘We should name our boat.’ Her voice was as quiet as the night. ‘We wouldn’t be here without it. If all those distant, far away stars get names, then surely our boat should too.’

Zuko nodded in agreement. ‘Something strong,’ he suggested, tucking his hands beneath his head.

‘The Salty Sailor,’ she said, a smile in her voice.

‘The Spewing Waterbender,’ he retorted, glancing sideways at her.

She made a face at the memory. ‘Whisky Drowning.’

He chuckled, his gaze caught by how silvery the moonlight turned her hair. ‘What about Hope?’ he asked after a time, watching her face soften at the word. ‘Though if you agree, it only proves that play we saw on Ember Island right.’

She turned her head to watch him, half her face hidden in shadow. ‘Zuko?’

His heart fell at the glint of tears in her eyes. ‘Yeah?’

‘Can I come sleep next to you?’ Her voice broke on the last word.

He sat up and shifted over so she could have the fire side while she bundled up her sleeping bag and spread it tearily beside him. He started when she stretched out beside him and curled into his side, her face pressing against his shoulder. Gingerly, he laid his arm against her back. Her hair tickled his chin; it smelled of the sea spray and each of the past week’s restless nights.

She linked her last two fingers with his pinkie on his chest as she had that first night. Neither of them said it, but the consolation of that small gesture helped them both sleep easier.

‘Zuko,’ she whispered sometime later as his thoughts drifted towards sleep.

‘Hmm?’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did that day when your sis… when Azula...’

She gripped his finger tighter.

‘It’s okay,’ he said softly, pressing his leg surreptitiously closer to hers.

He froze when she curled her leg over his, holding it between hers. ‘It’s not,’ she corrected him in a whisper. ‘But thank you. The whole of this last week, I’ve been wishing that you hadn’t. That she had got me, like she’d meant to…’ Zuko felt himself go cold. He recalled the long quiet days on the ship; uninterrupted silent hours Katara spent staring brokenly out at the empty ocean. ‘But today… today is the first day I’m… okay that I survived. So, thank you. For saving me then… and now.’

His arms tightened around her, but he calmed the fury in his chest with the deliberate breathing technique; one of his uncle’s many legacies.

‘I just thought of a name for the boat,’ he said quietly, too much of a coward to comment on her words. She nodded against his chest, waiting. ‘ _The Gratitude_ ,’ he said, feeling a fool. ‘You grateful for me, and me grateful for you.’

She was silent for a long time. So long he thought she’d drifted off as he counted the stars overhead to distract himself from remembering the sonnets Iroh had drunkenly composed and performed for the crew about the stars on “morale night.”

‘I like it,’ her breath tickled his neck; he shifted uneasily. ‘ _The Gratitude_.’

\- o -

The markets in Litao were extraordinarily varied for such a small town; the benefits of a harbour used for trade between the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. They arrived early, as the stallholders set up and shop owners arranged their wares. They didn’t spend long perusing what was available; the less time in town, the better. Quickly and discreetly, they purchased food, a map, rope, canvas, and a sowing kit. Katara also insisted on purchasing a few choice items in the name of hygiene, namely soap.

Zuko demanded they visit the woodworker and buy some tools and planks to patch the hole in the cabin by the bed.

‘Of course, _you_ don’t think it’s that bad,’ he snapped at her, fishing coins out of the pouch at his side. ‘It’s not on your side of the bed, is it?’

Katara rolled her eyes as the bearded vendor laughed. ‘Haven’t you ever heard the saying, “happy wife, happy life?”’ the man chortled, handing Zuko his change.

The teens exchanged an awkward look. ‘Thanks,’ Zuko said gruffly to the carpenter, hoisting the boards under one arm and their groceries under the other. Katara shook her head but plucked the hammer and nails from the counter.

‘Come on, _Lee_ ,’ she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

They headed for the edge of town, sufficiently supplied. Or so Katara thought.

‘Wait!’

She turned in time to see Zuko stop before a glass front shop called _Fong’s Cactus Brewery_. Her lip twisted at the memory of the morning after the fire whisky. ‘Lee!’

He waved a hand at her— _wait_ — and entered the liquor store. Sighing, Katara dragged her feet over to the wall of the shop and took the opportunity to pack the rope, canvas, hammer, and nails into her empty bag. The rope was deceptively heavy; perhaps she could sneak it into Zuko’s load when he came back…

‘Here.’ He handed her the bottle of fire whisky, balancing the groceries and boards with one arm. ‘Can you fit this in your bag?’

She took it irritably, her movements stiff; she’d meant him to carry some of her things, how was it fair that the reverse had happened?

‘How can you want to drink that stuff again after last week?’ she asked in disbelief, tucking the bottle into the top of her bag so she didn’t have to look at the red label.

Zuko looked up from his own struggles fitting everything they’d bought into the bag that the Fire Sages had given him. ‘I don’t want to drink it now,’ he explained, taking the rope from beside her and tying it onto the outside of his pack.

She slipped her bag onto her shoulders gratefully. ‘Then why buy it? We don’t have that much money left, you know.’

He nodded, knotting the top of the pack and hefting it onto his back. ‘One day,’ he began, slinging the long boards up to rest over his shoulder, ‘a month from now, or a year from now, or ten years from now, we’ll have something to smile about. Something to be happy about, instead of…’ He blinked and looked out over the busy street. ‘We need something to look forward to.’

She frowned at him. ‘You want me to look forward to vomiting?’ she asked archly, starting off for the cave that concealed _The Gratitude_.

‘Not the drink,’ he cried, exasperated.

‘I know what you meant,’ she muttered, taking pity on him. Though he’d teased her last night about hope, he knew how important it was to her. To both of them, really. ‘Thank you, Zuko, truly.’

\- o -

‘Zuko?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I was thinking about today, about how the woodworker… thought we were married.’

‘Uh... Yeah?’

‘Well I was thinking… We should tell people we’re married. They’ll probably assume it anyway. Besides, a husband and wife make more sense and raises less questions than a couple of friends wandering the Earth Kingdom.’

‘Oh.’

‘What do you think?’

‘Yeah, I guess. That makes sense.’

‘Okay.

‘Yeah.’

\- o -

‘Pass the hammer.’

Katara looked up from the map, her finger lingering over the blue landmass at the southernmost point of the parchment. They were back aboard _The Gratitude_ , following the coastline south. Zuko was playing handyman, the head covering Katara had made him replaced by a wide-brimmed straw hat he’d taken a liking to on their way out of town. While the firebender messed around replacing the rotted port side of the cabin wall, she was sitting on the deck trying to find them a haven from the Fire Nation— which Zuko seemed to keep forgetting.

They’d seen two Fire Navy ships today alone. But all he can think about is a draft at his back as he sleeps.

‘Get it yourself,’ she retorted, glaring at him before turning back to her map. The wide bay south of the Gaoling headland was a safe bet. She’d flown over it on Appa sometime ago and aside from a few fishing villages, there’d been very little sign of Fire Nation presence. Plus, it was right near the channel that lead to Omashu. New Ozai. Her lip twisted at the name.

Muttering to himself, Zuko stomped over to her and picked up the hammer from the tool chest beside her. ‘Some wife you are…’

It wasn’t until he’d clomped moodily away that she caught herself smiling.

\- o -

The now familiar creak of the boat, the gentle swish of the water, and their breathing was the soundtrack to each night crammed, shoulder against shoulder, into the little bed. Occasionally, a wave would slap against the hull and eventually Katara would find Zuko’s hand in the dark and they’d cling to one another against the nightmares that awaited them in sleep.

\- o -

The days and weeks passed becoming months. Summer turned to autumn, and Zuko and Katara found a small slice of peace in the Earth Kingdom village of Seong. They’d avoided any trouble with the Fire Nation, and eventually new wanted posters with their faces stopped showing up.

Only once had Zuko brought up the subject Katara dreaded.

‘The Order of the White Lotus,’ he had whispered into the darkness of the cabin. ‘I know how to find them. We could rally a resistance, build it up. It would take years, but we’ve got time; the new Avatar won’t be ready for over a decade. They’ll likely be in the Northern Water Tribe, no offence, but your tribe is only a fraction of the size—’

‘Zuko.’

He turned his head to meet her icy stare. ‘We _could!_ The new Avatar would have to learn water bending first! It’s the next in the cycle, right? You could teach them!’

She shook her head, her jaw clenched tightly. ‘I don’t know what Aang told you before… well, _before_. But he and I spoke about how he would fight the Firelord and he planned on using the Avatar State.’ The firebender wasn’t getting her meaning. ‘Zuko, if the Avatar is killed in the Avatar State, the line is broken. He won’t come back.’

His eyes widened in disbelief. ‘But we don’t know for sure…’ He squeezed her hand tightly. ‘Even so! There are still hundreds— _thousands_ — of people who would fight Ozai! We could help them bring an end to him, the war—’

‘The war is over,’ she said more harshly than she intended, pulling her hand from his. ‘It’s done. I think the world is sick of war. I’m not about to help start another one.’

The shock in his eyes felt like a blow. ‘Katara!’

She shrugged but searched out his hand once again. ‘You can’t,’ she whispered so quietly she hoped he couldn’t hear. ‘You’re all I have left.’

He hadn’t replied in so many words, but he had pulled her tightly against him, squashing her ear against his chest so hard she could hear his heartbeat. He couldn’t fault her for her fears, if he was honest with himself, his heart wasn’t in it. His time as force for change felt long, long since passed.

Neither of them had mentioned it again.

Instead, they’d found themselves in Seong, the last of their money spent and in need of company other than one another. There was comfort in being with one another— sole survivors of Azula’s fury— but often it felt that they were lonely together, the absence of their friends deafening in the silences between them.

Katara had come into Pak’s employment almost by accident. The old fisherman had needed someone who knew their way around a boat and who could haul the nets now his son had moved away to be married. It was meant to be a one-time gig, but she and the wiry haired old man had hit it off. They worked well together; he’d liked her dedication and admired her strength.

He’d offered her the job upon returning to the docks. A week into it, he put Zuko in touch with his friend Huang who needed a labourer. Huang built boats but liked a sake in the sun more than working. He figured it was time to take on an apprentice.

A few weeks later, when Katara let slip that she and Zuko were living on their boat, Pak took them to his wife’s sister, Lin, the local innkeeper. They were given a room and meals for a generously discounted rate at Pak’s glowing recommendation. In return, they would help Lin and her husband when they needed it.

They were privately thrilled at the prospect of a room that didn’t move, one larger than the matchbox they currently occupied. But they had forgotten: To Pak and Huang and Lin and the other villagers, they were Ming and Lee and married.

‘At least it’s bigger,’ was all Zuko said when Lin had left them alone in the room that was to be theirs. Katara hadn’t responded except to begin unpacking her meagre possessions in the draws on her side of the bed.

He’d offered to sleep on the floor.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she scolded. Compared to how closely they’d been pressed against one another in the cabin of _The Gratitude_ , they had half a world between them in this bed. Besides, after masquerading as strangers all day, there was an immense comfort for Katara in the intimacy they shared when they slept. She caught herself looking forward to returning from her bath of an evening and laying down beside the exiled prince. The polite distance they kept during the day melted and with their fingers entwined they’d recount their days, or whisper fond memories of Sokka and Hakoda, or Iroh and his tea. Some nights they didn’t say anything at all. On a few occasions, when she’d seen the Water Tribe insignia on a new piece of equipment on Pak’s ship, she’d cry, and he’d hold her tightly against remembering just how great the chasm of their loss truly was.

‘You know I was looking after the kids last night?’ she said one evening, her arms aching after a full day out with Pak. It was the time of year for the yellowfins that were the staple of the region; the old man hadn’t wanted to return to shore.

Zuko sat down beside her, extinguishing the lamp. ‘Lin mentioned.’

Katara rolled onto her side of the bed as her friend reclined with a tired sigh. ‘She asked me when we were going to have kids of our own,’ she told him with nervous amusement.

He gave a huff of laughter and by the light of the moon she caught the searching look he gave her. She’d never noticed how dark his eyes were in the moonlight before, less golden, more like a warm chocolate grey.

‘What did you say?’

She glanced away from him, uneasy. ‘That we were waiting for the right time.’

‘Ming would be a good mother.’

Katara stiffened, forcing herself to let go of the breath she’d been holding. ‘Ming isn’t real.’

‘I know that,’ he said defensively. ‘You know what I meant.’

She did.

‘Huang told me we don’t need kids, just sake,’ Zuko muttered to diffuse the tension. ‘I had to take it off him; he could barely finish the lesson.’

She smiled. ‘Pak says Huang needs to be told when to stop, sometimes, otherwise he ends up naked in the ocean scaring away the tourists.’

They laughed at the well-known story; it was most likely Pak who had encouraged the old drunk on. ‘My uncle would have got on well with Pak,’ he said warmly, flexing his fingers against hers when she came searching. ‘Every time he sees me at the market, he invites me to play Pai Sho.’

‘Welcome to my world,’ she said dryly, threading her fingers through his.

\- o -

‘Will you come with Pabo and me to the Phoenix Day Festival?’ Lin asked Katara over dinner eleven months after they’d arrived in Seong. ‘He and a few of the regular merchants are performing a traditional tsungi horn song from Avatar Kyoshi’s time.’

Zuko watched Katara carefully from the corner of his eye; the blue in her eyes might have shimmered for a moment but, instead of crumpling, she shot Lin’s husband a disbelieving stare that was light-hearted enough for him to relax.

It’s only recently that either of them can hear the word “Avatar” without crumbling inside.

‘I hope you’ve been practicing since my birthday,’ she told the middle-aged man with a grin. ‘You scared away the whole coast’s population of wildlife.’

Pabo’s mock hurt reminded Zuko strongly of his uncle. ‘Huang said I showed promise.’

‘Huang would,’ Lin teased, laughing with Katara. ‘I promise you don’t need to be subjected to Pabo’s tsungi horn if you come.’

Zuko twisted his chop sticks in his hands. ‘We can’t,’ he told her with a hesitant smile. After an argument with Katara over the severity of his tone when he disagreed with people, he’d tried softening himself towards their new friends, maddening as it was.

Katara, Lin, and Pabo all stared at him as though he’d grown a second head. ‘Okay…’ Lin said slowly, her lips twitching somewhat at the almost pained look on the boy’s face. ‘Maybe we’ll see you there?’

He nodded reluctantly. He could think of nothing worse than spending the anniversary of their loss of the war at one of his father’s Phoenix Day celebrations.

But the day came, as it would now every year.

They left the inn early. It almost took two trips to get their supplies for the day down to the pier where _The Gratitude_ was moored. The grey dawn light gave Zuko strength, Katara mused, her own feet dragging. Her sleepy thoughts were back in their room and the softness of the bed she hadn’t been ready to leave.

He’d dropped his pack on board the small boat and strode the length of the pier to relieve the waterbender of hers.

‘I’ve got it,’ she yawned, even as he slipped the straps down her shoulders. His mocking smirk got the better of her; she laughed. ‘Fine.’

‘I’ve started untying the moorings, why don’t you stow the rope while I push us out?’ he called over his shoulder while she staggered towards the bamboo plank that bridged the drop into the cool summer sea below. The water called sleepily to Katara but with the moon’s descent and the sun’s rise her bending joined her in wanting to return to bed.

Zuko made quick work of the mooring lines, moving around the boat with a quiet confidence that she surreptitiously watched with a furrowed brow. His hair was down around his face as usual, his scar only just visible under the thick strands. His customary frown had eased in favour of an easy conviction and she realised with a lurch that she’d never before seen him content. Not happy— that fickle joy that came and went each day— but true contentment with where he was.

She wrenched her gaze from him as he turned to free the new sail she’d fitted only a few months back. Her companion’s odd mood made her feel strange, unmoored, so she turned her back to him and concentrated on winding the mooring lines into neat twists and shoving them in the compartment at the prow.

The morning was deceptively cool, as the nights had been of late. But they’d each made sure to bring a wide brimmed hat for that merciless midday sun; neither had forgotten the sun burn of their first week on the little boat.

The bay was quiet that morning, no fishermen would venture out today. The oyster leases were likewise silent. If they were lucky, they’d have the water all to themselves; everyone was caught up in the celebrations.

Katara looked away from the shoreline and picked up their bags. Not the large, canvas packs the Fire Sages had sent them off with, but smaller, water-proof sailor’s rucksacks bursting with delicious dumplings, candied fruit, and rice for the day. They kept _The Gratitude_ stocked with enough supplies that they could leave on her at a moment’s notice, but Zuko had insisted they eat something more than the jars of preserves and pickles today.

The cabin was homier than it had been. Katara had hung the walls with furs like a Water Tribe ship, granting the tiny room a nostalgia that warmed it more than any amount of fire could. From the ceiling she’d strung a lantern, while a brightly coloured quilt tucked neatly around the new, plump mattress. She unpacked and put away the food, candles, blankets, and clothes until her hand brushed a glass bottle and the wicked red label peered up at her.

The bottle of fire whisky. Chewing her lip, Katara left it conspicuously on the bed so that he’d know she’d found it. Perhaps Huang was rubbing off on him…

Lunch came and went and, in the peaceful solitude of the empty ocean, the two of them practiced their bending with flares of water and sprays of fire colliding with their laughter. Katara wasn’t even on deck anymore. With a light-heartedness she hadn’t felt since before the end of the war, she propelled herself around the boat, her arms flowing through the still familiar forms as though it hadn’t been nearly a year since she’d done more than twitch them at a puddle.

His eyes narrowed in concentration, Zuko couldn’t help but smirk as the waterbender gracefully rode the sea, swirling against the tide as she dodged his (admittedly) poorly aimed attacks. He was loathe to burn her. But, with the sun beating down against his bare back, he revelled in the thrill of bending again.

At one point, a wicked gleam in her eye, Katara swung her arms overhead with a shout and a horizontal pillar of water crashed into the firebender, knocking him clear off the boat. She was still laughing when he surfaced, spluttering and glaring.

‘Not funny!’ he shouted slapping his hand against the water in a vein attempt to splash her, up on her torrent of water.

Katara grinned widely, her arms, chest, and head still dry. ‘Man overboard,’ she sniggered, but she lowered her arms and dropped down beside him, treading water with her arms and legs now.

Zuko grunted, pushing his dripping hair out of his eyes. ‘If we weren’t in the middle of the ocean, I would have won,’ he warned her, trying to hold onto his stroppiness.

‘I’m sure you would have,’ she said smugly in a tone that belied her words. She ducked under water for a moment, wetting her hair and rolled onto her back with a sigh. Zuko’s gaze was caught by the strip of smooth, dark skin below her chest bindings, so pale against her dusky skin. He glanced down at his own arms, darker now than they had been from so long working under the sun, but still chalk to her coal.

He cleared his throat and kicked his legs harder, pushing back towards the slowly drifting boat. ‘A little help?’

She turned her head to look at him, water lapping at her. ‘But it’s so nice in.’

He shook his head at her in disbelief. ‘Waterbenders,’ he muttered like a curse, just to see that smirk creep back onto her face.

She swept her arms up, twisting her wrists and the two of them rose up and were deposited on the deck. She barely stumbled, her feet firmly planted against the wooden boards but Zuko, unprepared for the undulation of the water, tripped and was left sitting and scowling at her.

She shook her head but her laughter was contagious, it pulled an unwilling smile onto Zuko’s face.

Eyes still dancing, she offered him her hand.

\- o –

They spent the afternoon on deck, protected from the sun by the shade annex Zuko had added some weeks ago, canvas that stretched from the cabin to the prow, painting the deck in dappled sunlight. The Fire Prince reclined with a scroll he’d borrowed from Lin, a history of Seong and the spirits that had made the bay their home. Katara cooked them an early meal, waving off Zuko’s protests. Technically, it had been his turn to cook but he’d seemed so engrossed in his reading and she hadn’t minded.

The ramen, vegetarian in honour of their fallen friend, was spicy, in the Fire Nation style Zuko liked, the greens still crisp and full of flavour. She demanded praise when he went back for seconds.

‘Better than Lin’s,’ he declared, glancing at her sideways; Lin’s ramen was legend in Seong.

Katara wrinkled her nose but looked pleased. ‘You’re just saying that!’

He shrugged and scooped another mouthful of the spiced mushrooms. The tingle of the chilli and the setting sun reminded him of the bottle he’d packed.

‘Did you unpack our bags?’

She looked up, her fingers picking at her damp braid, untwining it. ‘I found your vomit juice,’ she said dryly, but a smile danced at the corner of her lips.

He stood and retrieved it along with two roughly cut, wooden cups he’d made for the boat. Sitting back against the cushions they’d positioned at the prow, he set the drink down between them. Katara rolled her eyes but shuffled over to sit on the cushion beside him, leaning back against the curve of the prow and shaking out her damp hair. She’d long ago forgone her hair loopies for fear of them marking her as Water Tribe, but for once she didn’t mourn the loss of the link to her culture.

‘You shouldn’t be sick this time,’ he assured her pouring a small amount into each cup. ‘We drank on an empty stomach last time. Food helps.’

‘You said you were going to save this for when we had something happy to celebrate,’ she pointed out, taking the drink and cupping it between her hands. ‘Something special.’

He nodded. ‘I did.’

‘The Firelord’s victory anniversary isn’t a great memory for either of us,’ she continued, a sarcastic note creeping into her voice.

‘We’re not celebrating Ozai’s win,’ Zuko replied flatly, his eyes bright in the dying light. ‘I want to celebrate today, just our day.’ He searched for the words that always came so awkwardly to him. ‘I lost count of how many times we laughed today, it felt good. Like old times again, but better than memories because it’s real.’ He raised his glass, imploring her to understand. ‘Do you know what I mean?’

Something in her chest squeezed. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, swallowing, and touching her cup to his. ‘To you and me and laughter.’

She wasn’t prepared for his grin. ‘To you and me and laughter,’ he chorused, sipping at his drink.

Katara mirrored the action. ‘It tastes better this time,’ she decided, licking her lips to catch a droplet there. ‘I like the burn.’

‘Me too,’ he agreed, leaning back against the beam of the prow. ‘It almost feels like firebending.’

She blinked in surprise. ‘Really?’ she asked, intrigued. ‘That heat in your throat and belly?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, the heat actually makes it really easy to conjure a flame. In the Fire Nation, when a firebender reaches a certain level of proficiency he is taken to the top of a volcano and given a glass of fire whisky and left to meditate on his inner fire.’ He topped up their drinks. ‘Ozai never acknowledged me as proficient, but my uncle took me to a hot spring in the Earth Kingdom and I got to meditate on the Breath of Fire Ritual there.’

Katara sipped the liquid and imagined spitting flames. ‘That’s a really beautiful tradition,’ she said with some surprise. She knew that not everything the Fire Nation did was cruel, but such a meaningful ritual… she never guessed such a thing existed.

‘Uncle was adamant I should experience each of the traditions of my people,’ Zuko explained, staring into his glass as though it could answer him. ‘Banished at thirteen… there were quite a few coming of age ceremonies I’d have missed.’

‘Like what?’ She tried to imagine the angry boy with the ponytail acting with poise and reverence.

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. ‘At fifteen, the Crown Prince or Princess are supposed to enter into a three-year betrothal and be married on the day they turn eighteen. That’s the day you become a man in the Fire Nation. Or a woman,’ he added. ‘Uncle bought an edition of _Crowning Dragons_ and made me choose which noblewoman I’d like to be promised to when we returned home.’

‘ _Crowning Dragons_?’

Zuko rolled his eyes at the memory. ‘It’s probably the worst magazine printed,’ he explained, drawing his right knee up and resting his drink against it. ‘It’s released every year after the previous season’s eligible noblewomen come of age. Uncle had _a lot_ to say about the girls.’

Katara laughed at the absurdity; he could only imagine what the old general had said. ‘Who did you choose?’

His face softened. ‘Mai.’

Katara drank deeply from her cup. ‘From fake betrothal with Fire Nation nobility to a fake marriage to a Water Tribe _peasant_.’ She eyed him meaningfully but smiled to soften the barb.

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Probably a better marriage than any real one between Mai and I,’ he admitted. ‘Mai wasn’t the happy kind. What would you have done in the Water Tribe?’

She blanched at the question. ‘Well… we have different traditions in the South,’ she began tentatively, sipping at the sweet whisky. ‘In the Northern Water Tribe, all marriages are arranged. But back home we’re free to choose who we love once we come of age.’ She traced the edge of her cup, following the trajectory of Zuko’s stargazing. ‘In a few months, I turn sixteen. That’s when I’m considered a woman by Water Tribe standards.

‘Back home, there’d be a huge feast. My father would have hunted all the meat, and the whole village would be invited. After the food, there’d be dancing. Anyone who wanted to court me would ask me to dance…’ She smiled fondly at the memories of the last coming of age feast she’d gone to, nearly four years ago now. ‘Some girls get engaged that night, if their favourite has carved them a necklace and they accept.’

Zuko had long ago focused his attention on the girl beside him. ‘It sounds like a great party.’

She nodded, turning to him excitedly. ‘It’s the greatest! Not only is it fun, but you get to be with everyone, the whole tribe. We all come together to celebrate one person, but really we’re celebrating the togetherness, the bonds of the tribe…’ She caught sight of the look in his eyes and trailed off. ‘We don’t have fire whisky in the South Pole but the adults drink ice spirits. I never tried it, but it didn’t smell as nice as this.’ She finished her drink and reached for the bottle.

‘How does the necklace proposal go exactly?’ he asked quietly, taking the bottle from her once she’d poured herself a drink.

She pulled her green Earth Kingdom dress tighter around her wishing she’d brought her shawl. ‘The man carves a design into a stone of his choosing.’ She barely paused when he shuffled closer and threaded his arm around her shoulder, the heat relieving her goose bumps. ‘The carving should be representative of something special between them, something important to them both… My mother’s necklace, the one I lost when we fled the Fire Nation capital, my father had carved a Water Tribe symbol into it. Since she would be the Chief’s wife.’ The pressure of his arm around her, the heat of his body pressed against her side made her bold, gave her courage. She trailed her fingers up his bent leg until she met the hand against his knee. ‘We’ve gone about the whole thing so backwards,’ she said quietly.

He watched her fingers play over his own. Their hands both now carried callouses, signs of the work at which they spent their days. ‘Enemies, refugees, allies, friends… friends who hold hands in their sleep.’

‘Married friends who hold hands in their sleep,’ she corrected with a grin.

‘Allegedly married.’

She laughed, full and throaty, it tickled at her insides. Parts of her she hadn’t realised were stone, began to shift, like glaciers melting their way across the land. ‘Allegedly married friends who sleep holding hands… I don’t think that’s a relationship. I think that’s…’

‘What?’

She laughs again but its quieter this time, a noise more suited to dark night skies and grey moonlight. ‘Some nights, when you fall asleep first… I want to touch you. Sometimes I can’t help myself.’

‘I know,’ he replied, toying with a stand of her hair. ‘I like it. I always hope you’ll do more.’

She flushed at his words but refused to drop her gaze. ‘What did you feel me do?’

He raised his free hand and traced slowly down the side of her face the same way she had only last night. Her lips parting as his fingers skimmed lightly over them, and down back along her jawline. Her eyes fluttered closed and her skin pebbled at the warmth of his touch. It spread through her veins and pooled, smouldering, low in her belly.

‘You never let on that you knew,’ she muttered when his hand stilled against her neck.

‘I didn’t want to embarrass you.’

Her eyes fluttered open to watch him. ‘When did it start being real for you?’ She gestured between them. ‘This.’

A smile hid at the corners of Zuko’s lips. ‘Not long after we arrived in town. You?’

‘When we moved into Lin’s inn.’ She frowned at him, the giddiness in her stomach fluttering. ‘You never said anything.’

‘Neither did you.’

‘I’m saying something now.’

‘So am I.’

She searched the golden eyes for something she’d never imagined she’d look for there a year ago. ‘What are you saying?’

He was soft, softer than she had ever seen the firebender be. ‘That I like being allegedly married to you. I like when we wake up and you’ve cuddled into my side and I like when we go to bed and you find my hand as you’re falling asleep. I guess, I don’t hate being here with you… I actually kind of like it.’

She never knew words could sneak under her skin and blaze paths along her spine. Never knew they could fuel her with courage enough to lean forward and taste a firebender’s lips. She expected it to be sweet and lingering, but the exiled prince’s kiss tasted like fire and fire consumes everything it touches. She was ignited, flames bursting from her skin where he marked her with his touch. Did every firebender burn the way Zuko did?

The minutes melted away under the waning moon and the distraction of the boy beneath her fingers. She drunk the intoxication flowing from his lips and marvelled at the orchestra striking up under her skin at his hand’s exploration of her body.

Eventually she had to pull away to breathe.

‘No…’ The firebender, eyes dark and glittering, reached for her.

‘Wait,’ she stuttered, hand on his pounding chest. ‘Just… let me breathe.’

He growled low in his throat, or perhaps it was a groan. Katara was pleasantly muddled with the flames of his kiss and couldn’t quite figure it out.

‘Be patient,’ she chided him, grinning breathlessly. ‘We have all night together. Isn’t firebending meant to be about control?’

‘Are you done breathing yet?’ he asked, his fingers at her hips teasing the rising hem of her dress.

She would have laughed at him had he not just found a spot on her thigh so sensitive it stole the breath from her lungs. ‘ _Yes_.’

\- o -

After the Phoenix Day Festival, not one of their new friends noticed a change in Lee and Ming. Lee still left the inn each day at eight, fetched lunch for Huang at midday and returned after Ming in the evenings. And Ming spent almost every sunrise at the docks, her days on the water. Every night, they both retired early, as usual.

Each night they fell asleep holding more than each other’s hands. Each night they whispered more than the trivialities of their day or memories of lost brothers and uncles. Each night saw them talk about the future with tentative, fragile hope rather than necessity.

And months later when they discovered whispers of survivors from the Phoenix King’s attack, it was together that they sailed to the Northern Water Tribe and were welcomed into the Order of the White Lotus’s recently marshalled resistance.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended much more positively than I had intended… I’d planned something fairly horrendous, but I think having to find a way to live with what happened during Sozin’s comet was the far greater challenge for them. At least they have each other.
> 
> Edit: someone pointed out that Katara’s necklace was in fact carved by Pakku for Gran Gran and handed down to Kya rather than carved by Hakoda. My bad! Let’s just roll with it :)


End file.
